Page 93 of Forecheck
With shaking hands, I exited my truck after parking in the players’ lot. My hands remained in near contact with my jeans as I incessantly wiped my clammy palms. The elevator ride up to the offices passed too quickly while also seeming to drag on forever. I had no idea what was about to happen, and I honestly felt like I was walking to the gallows.
When I reached Baker’s office, I rapped twice on the door, and it swung inward to reveal Fred, the assistant GM Walter Litter, and Coach.
“Jean!” Fred said, standing to shake my hand. “Good to see you, kid.”
In his heyday, Fred Baker had been a hell of a defenseman and captain, responsible for leading the Warriors to three Stanley Cup victories. Thanks to his reputation as a take-no-bullshit kind of guy and his long and storied career, he’d been larger than life and a bit intimidating the first time I’d met him.
Now, he was intimidating for a whole new reason.
Once greetings were complete, I sat at the table beside Coach; Fred and Walter sat across from us.
“Let’s cut to the chase, boys,” Fred said, never having been one to beat around the bush. He leveled me with his peculiar grey eyes. “I’m assuming you’ve seen the rumors floating around that we’re shopping you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m here to tell you that’s bullshit.”
I blinked, unsure I’d heard him correctly. “I’m sorry?”
Fred waved a dismissive hand. “You know how thoseSports Newsassholes are,” I said. “They’ll do anything to get a few clicks.”
Isn’t that exactly what Mitch had said the day before?
And…God, had that only been yesterday? Berkley and I had spent so many hours in bed together, tangled up in the sheets and each other, that time had warped then ceased to exist until there was only her. I was having difficulty wrapping my brain around this new reality—the realization that my reality wouldn’t be changing at all.
“So…I’m staying?” I asked meekly, barely daring to hope as the words left me.
“Of course!” Fred boomed. “Quite frankly, we’d be insane to let you walk.”
Personally, I couldn’t agree more, but I simply nodded. Next to me, Coach subtly nudged me with an elbow, and I bit back a grin.
As Fred and Walter continued speaking, singing my praises, I tuned out. Mentally, I was already on my way home, calling Berkley to tell her the good news.
“So anyway,” Fred finished with a flourish, though I hadn’t heard a word of his little speech, “we’re happy to have you and hope you’ll be in Detroit for your entire career.”
“Me, too,” I said, standing to offer each of the men handshakes.
As I moved to exit the room, Coach followed behind me.
“I expect you back here for practice in two hours,” the man said as he stalked off in the direction of his own office.
“Yes, sir!” With a smile, I turned the other way.
The moment I slid behind the wheel of my truck and started it, my phone rang.
“Hey, Kenz,” I said to my little sister.
“Bee, what the fuck?”
Despite the rollercoaster of the last day and a half, I grinned. Mackenzie Jean was a great number of things—incredibly smart, driven, marched to the beat of her own drum—but she’d never been known for her tact, especially not where her big brothers were concerned. If we pissed her off, she told us in no uncertain terms.
“Uhh…you’re gonna have to be more specific, kid.”
“You’ve been AWOL for like fifteen hours! Mom is seconds away from filing a missing person’s report, Dad thinks you’re getting traded, and Nate is on his way to your apartment to check on you. Where the fuck have you been?”
I winced, pulling out my phone to shoot Berkley a warning text about my brother.
“First of all, tell Mom and Dad to relax. I’m not being traded.”
